


Truths

by Heidigard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Men Crying, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heidigard/pseuds/Heidigard
Summary: After Cas dies, Dean has to face some truths. Sam is there to support him, but he has his own grief to struggle with.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	Truths

**Author's Note:**

> ....aaaand another coda fic for S15E18, the collective trauma experience for the fandom. Just like the other one (Words Unsaid; read it on my account if you like), I tapped this out quickly just this afternoon without the customary scale and polish process that usually means it takes months or years for me to publish things.  
> I wanted a slightly different angle for Dean and Sam's interaction.

Truths

After, Dean sits on the floor of the interrogation room, until his tears run dry. Sam keeps calling, first every minute, then every few. Eventually, the frequency dwindles to about once every half hour. When Dean finally peels his hands from the salt-sticky skin of his cheeks, there are 21 missed calls.

He knows he’ll be paying for the radio silence later. They are in the middle of the mother of all apocalypses and despite what happened just a short while ago, he is perfectly aware that the only excuse to go AWOL on Sam now is being dead himself.

He _feels_ dead inside. Does that count?

Probably not. And no matter what he has lost, he still has Sam, and his little brother might need him right now. So when the phone rings again, he picks up.

“Dean!” Sam’s shocked voice bounces through the speaker. “Oh my god! Are you ok? I’ve been trying to reach your for hours.”

Dean doesn’t get more than a tired grunt in before Sam continues, breathless. “Listen. The plan didn’t work. Jack and I are ok, but everyone else is…”

Dean hears Sam take a shuddering breath. In the sudden quiet, he can distinguish the even thrumming of the car engine from the line static. Sam is on the move.

“Dean, everyone’s gone,” Sam eventually says, voice tight with grief.

Dean takes a deep breath. It doesn’t do anything against the hoarseness when he speaks. “Yeah, I know… Sam –“ but his throat seizes up and he falters. He just can’t say it. Sam waits patiently for him to continue. A second of silence stretches into two, three.

Dean can hear Jack in the background now, garbled and tinny, asking what’s going on. Sam sighs, clearly bone-tired. “Just sit tight. We’ll be there soon.”

Sometimes Dean loves his perceptive, nerdy, pain-in-the-arse little brother more than words can say. He swallows thickly. “Yeah.” is all he can mange in response before the line goes dead.

Dean drops the phone back to the floor and scrubs his hands through his hair, pulling. The sting gives him something to focus on other than the pain constricting his chest. In the hours since Cas got taken by the Empty, he has had time to think, and has arrived at a few obvious truths of his own.

One, he is a stupid SOB.

Two, so is Cas, because obviously, he – Dean – is not worthy of _anyone’s_ unconditional love, let alone an ancient celestial being’s affection when he is just such a tiny, insignificant spec marring the cosmic picture of things. Yet, Cas still loved him – and it was the death of him. Figures.

Three, he had underestimated Cas. He had never thought Cas was even capable of romantic love – again, hey! Ancient celestial being! – so obviously he had assumed that his own feelings, however little he acknowledged them, would remain forever unrequited and therefore, he was better off just pushing them down and down until they were buried under all his self-hatred, anger and guilt to never see the light of day again. But he had utterly, unfairly misjudged Cas’ capacity for emotion.

Four, he is desperately in love with Cas, despite his efforts to suppress it.

Five, he _didn’t say it back_. After burying his feelings under decades of crap, he had not been able to dig up the resolve in time. And Cas went to his death without ever knowing, and Dean knows the regret will probably destroy him.

Dean’s shoulders hitch. He can feel another wave of tears surging up his throat, pressing behind his eyes. He supports his elbows against his knees, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as hard as he can for a few seconds, holding his breath. It doesn’t help. Gasping, he drops his arms to his sides.

He debates what to do. Even the simple act of existing hurts right now, but Sam will be home soon and Dean is not sure if he wants to be found on the floor like this, useless and broken, dissolved in a puddle of tears.

The problem is, he can’t really get himself to move, even though he can’t stand the sight of these walls any more, the runes on the floor, the metal chair in front of him. Moving would mean leaving the place where he saw Cas last; where he saw Cas _happy_ , smiling at him like dying to save him was the biggest privilege anyone could ask for.

A door opens upstairs. Footsteps bang over metal. He is out of time.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice reverberates down the corridor.

With great effort, Dean heaves himself off the floor. His knees creak. The bruise on his right shoulder, the one that hit the wall when Cas pushed him, is beginning to throb. Using the brick for support, he straightens. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he breathes before taking his first step towards the door.

“Down here, Sammy.” He doesn’t have the energy to shout, but is sure Sam heard him. A moment later, feet are pounding down the basement stairs.

Dean meets his brother at the door.

“Dean! Oh thank god!” The relief on Sam’s face worsens the guilt in Dean’s gut. Sam engulfs him in a bear hug, squeezing him tightly to his chest. Dean’s arms come up automatically, wrapping around his brother. Sam buries his head against Dean’s shoulder for a moment, just clinging, and that’s when it hits Dean that, in the last 24 hours, Sam has lost his love, too, and a bunch of people besides.

They are back to being each others’ only comfort.

After what could have been a minute or an hour, Sam draws back, sniffling. His eyes are watery but he is holding it together. He scans Dean’s face and Dean lets him. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to talk. He knows Sam can see how puffy his eyes are, his cheeks blooming blotches of red.

Suddenly, Dean can’t stand it anymore. He breaks away from Sam, looking at his shoes. “Where’s Jack?” he asks, trying to sound casual, _normal_ , but his voice is betraying him, coming out hoarse and quivering on a heavy exhale.

“He’s fine. I told him to wait upstairs,” Sam answers, the frown on his face slowly clearing into comprehension.

“Dean…” he starts, but trails off as he scans Dean’s dejected form once more, probably looking for injuries. His gaze catches on the bloody handprint on Dean’s left shoulder. Suddenly, there is fearful urgency in his voice mixed with dreadful suspicion. “Dean, where is Cas?”

Dean’s visceral reaction at hearing the name is probably enough of an answer. He twitches as if from a slap, fresh tears pooling at his lashes. For a moment, Dean is at a loss for words. He gives a jerky shake of his head. Sam’s worried brow creases even more, and Dean knows he owes him an answer, even if the words might choke him.

“He didn’t make it,” he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw against another sob.

When he looks back at his brother, Sam has gone white as a sheet. “Dean…” he tries again, but something must be blocking off his airway because the word cuts off in a strangled keening sound. “No,” Sam says, beginning to shake his head, and now there are tears on his cheeks, starting to drip from his chin. “No, not Cas too.”

They look at each other, tears wetting both of their faces, and that’s when Dean remembers that Cas was Sam’s friend, too. However much Cas meant to Dean, he was a brother to Sam as well.

Suddenly, it’s important to make Sam understand, to draw the line between the different qualities of their grief. It’s selfish and petty, but it’s all Dean has left.

“He said he loved me.”

A huge sob breaks free of its moorings in Dean’s chest. “The Empty got him. Billie was chasing us and Cas sacrificed himself to save me, and he said… he said…” but all his words are drowned. It takes enormous effort to drag back control, but he needs Sam to know, needs _somebody_ to hear.

Dean draws a huge breath to calm himself enough to speak. “Cas said he loved me, and damnit, Sam, I love him, too!”

Sam just nods. Nods and nods, chin quivering and eyes watering. Dean, for all his grief, feels like an enormous weight is beginning to lift, maybe because he is sharing it. And Sam is accepting it, just like that. That makes it easier to say the next bit.

“I was stupid, Sam. Too slow to process. I didn’t say it back!”

Sam’s mouth opens, air shuddering into his lungs. He blows it out in a shaky stream. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

Somehow, that simple platitude – however sincere Sam might be – settles Dean a little. He sighs. “Yeah. I know you are… and you know I’m sorry about Eileen, too, for all that it’s worth.”

Sam absorbs that with a nod.

“And you know what, Sammy? We’ll make that bastard Chuck pay. We’ll get them back somehow. Both of them. Like always.”

“Yeah, ok.” Sam nods. There is little conviction in his words, but he’s trying. “Like always,” he agrees. Another truth.

The end

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I would really appreciate a comment :)


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